The Possessed by Witold Gombrowicz

Author:Witold Gombrowicz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fitzcarraldo Editions
Published: 2023-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

XI.

Leszczuk had fled from Połyka barely alive. The money he’d stolen was burning him like fire. And he was even more agonized by the thought of the squirrel – he couldn’t forget the little creature’s dying eyes and its final spasm of pain. Every time it came to mind his fists clenched as if ready to thump Maja again.

She had brought him to this! It was all because of her! She wanted to ruin him! She was mean and evil – there were no words for how depraved she was! He couldn’t understand it, but at the memory of the scuffle in the forest he went cold, as if it were the work of Satan. The very idea that he could beat someone up like that! And then he’d taken the money…

But just as when he’d entered her room at night he’d been sure she wouldn’t try to stop him, or betray him with a scream, now too he was sure she would do everything she could to avoid having to explain the theft.

And even if he were caught and sent for interrogation, he’d be in a position to compromise her. No, neither Mrs Ochołowska, nor Cholawicki nor Maja was going to prosecute him – they were too well aware that the young lady did not have a clean conscience.

And he needed the money like anything! Without it he couldn’t go to Warsaw.

For Leszczuk, tennis was now a matter of life and death. There was nothing else to protect him from Maja’s toxic spell. It was the only thing preventing him from going to rack and ruin and giving him the strength to run away from her.

Feeling extremely nervous, he went to the club to keep his appointment. There his fate would finally be decided.

He arrived at least an hour too early, so he took a seat in the stand for the main court and watched the players. It was an amateur match of no special standard. But these players soon went off, and then the top stars came onto the court.

Leszczuk had no trouble recognizing Wróbel and Gawlik, whose photographs he had seen in the magazines. He followed their playing in suspense. For him, each stroke was an opportunity for some high-speed self-examination – can I play like that, can I possibly do it?

Their game was much more powerful than Maja’s – either of them could have beaten her. And yet their balls were not entirely unreturnable and they made lots of mistakes, obvious even to him. In any case, he now felt confident that his own game against one of these champions wouldn’t cause a scandal – it would end six–three or six–four, he reckoned.

‘Mr Brzdąc will see you now.’

The ball boy showed him to the buffet, where Mr Brzdąc introduced him to the administrator, Captain Ratfiński. Leszczuk timidly stammered his request, saying he’d come from the provinces and wanted to demonstrate his playing, knowing that the club was looking for new recruits.

The players gathered around them with glasses of lemonade in hand and towels slung over their shoulders.

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